


A Scoop of Ice Cream

by m0nologue



Series: Golden Wounds, Purple Blood [1]
Category: Five Nights at Freddy's
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Child Death, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:07:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27525094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/m0nologue/pseuds/m0nologue
Summary: William Afton, world-renowned robotics expert, entrepreneur, and secret child murderer, faces a dilemma. His daughter has become victim to the maw of Circus Baby, his magnum opus, and he has been forced to shut down his new attraction before it even starts. Furious at the girl, but scared that she could die and live on inside of his REAL daughter, William ponders if he should save her from starving inside of Baby, or leave her to die. While he makes his decision, he reflects on the trial that acquitted him of the Missing Children Incident in 1983.
Series: Golden Wounds, Purple Blood [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2012023
Comments: 4
Kudos: 31





	A Scoop of Ice Cream

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first fanfiction for AO3. This story is meant to fit inside of the game timeline under my interpretation of the story. Under my interpretation, the Bite Victim of FNAF 4 is named Cassidy Afton, and was killed as the fifth victim of the MCI, brought back to life by Charlie / Plushbear, and died for good in the Bite, becoming Golden Freddy. If that confuses you, r/fivenightsatfreddys has some wonderful posts on BV5th if you would like to look them up! Or message me on Discord at m0nologue#0413.

“Daddy! Daddy, help me! Where are you?”

He stood in front of the deactivated animatronic with a look of derision. Its empty eyes stared down at him in silence - aside from her cries, of course, erupting from within the thing’s belly. He was dressed in a tidy, simple suit - black with a white undershirt and a simple and unassuming violet tie. She was his favorite child. He thought about her so much - her red pigtails, her kind smile, the way she towered over others. He loved his greatest child as a God would love his creations. She was his, and his alone - but the wretched thing in its belly wouldn’t shut her mouth.

“Daddy... it’s so cold in here... it hurts. I don’t know where I am.”

_You ruined this,_ he thought. He had planned everything out so meticulously. His own attraction. His own grounds, away from Henry and away from the prying eyes of the damned company. Filled with his glorious creations, all of them watchful loyal beacons, constantly searching for what he needs. Henry’s brat wasn’t enough. Hell, his _own_ wasn’t enough. He needed more, and his creations understood this, for they could only understand what he wanted them to. They weren’t like the originals, Freddy and the band - though his company may have made them, they were Henry’s at heart, even when William had given them the remnants of something more. And even then, they would pretend; pretend to understand, but search for his shadow when midnight struck, clawing for prey they would never reach.

_My Funtimes,_ William thought, _they never pretend._

But then she ruined it all. Because she doesn’t listen. She _never_ fucking listens. At least Michael can rebel to his _face_. William cursed himself for ever thinking he could turn his eyes away from her for even a second without her running off. Better yet, he cursed himself for ever thinking giving her a simple, direct order would make any sort of impression on her.

“...Please! It’s so cold! I think she hurt me... My chest hurts. I’m sorry.”

_Sorry won’t cut it this time,_ he thought. Jesus, and the faces those movers gave him. They probably heard her when they were wheeling Baby out of the place. Thank God she wasn’t a crybaby like her brother was. Had he been the one in there, the entire county would have heard him sobbing. But Elizabeth never cried, even now - her voice was unsteady and distressed, but William did not hear a single sob.

He listened to her pleading voice. She was unaware of his presence - the idiot child probably didn’t even realize she was inside his creation to begin with, much less back at his facility in a storage unit. He simply stood there and listened. Sometimes he clenched his teeth and became furious at her prattling, bringing his shaking hands to his face and struggling not to scream at her to shut her fucking mouth. He supposed he was putting off the inevitable discussion he’d have to have with her when he’d finally open Baby and pull her out. What would he even say? _Sweetie, this is Daddy’s secret. Tell anybody about this and I’ll send you where I sent the rest of them._

He clenched his fists and cursed her again in his mind, her and her mother and her siblings and himself. Then he knelt down a bit, pulled a screwdriver out of his suit pocket, and inserted it into the front of Circus Baby’s thigh, into the vertical opening between the two plates. He fiddled around for a second before catching it onto the control mechanism he was looking for, pressed forward, and turned the screwdriver effortlessly in his right hand, as if this were something he had practiced doing for years. After a couple seconds, he heard a metallic _chik!_ and Baby’s head snapped forward violently. He stood up and checked the back of Baby’s neck - the control model had indeed sprung from the back of Baby’s neck, and was sticking out as if she were impaled.

Immediately Elizabeth yelled from inside Baby: “What was that? Is that you, Daddy? Please, I’m scared. I’m sorry for not listening to you.”

William ignored her screams, not yet comfortable with letting her know of his presence. He eyed the control module. The buttons were unmarked, but he had long memorized what they meant - there were four of them. OPEN, FOLLOW, CLOSE, and CANCEL. Even the buttons themselves never did anything unless you pressed them four times in quick succession - only then would they actually open the storage unit in Baby’s belly, or close it, or order Baby to follow the closest human. He had spent so long perfecting this process - not only perfecting the beautiful science of bringing his subjects where they needed to go, but fine-tuning their controls and abilities so only _he_ knew how to activate them. There was no room for error; no room for discovery unless an unwanted visitor was pulled into Baby’s maw like Elizabeth.

William’s finger hovered over the OPEN button. He knew he had to release her eventually. It was difficult enough evading suspicion last year. The payoff may have been worth it - when in private, he would dance with glee when he thought of Detective Clay Burke’s furious face when he had realized William would be acquitted - but it was a stressful trial, and his entire reputation was on the line for it. As he moved to press the button, he remembered the last stressful days of the trial.

...

_“You don’t think you’ll go to jail, Dad?”_

_William eyed his oldest son suspiciously, keeping the phone against his ear. They were both in Kane County Jail, the closest jail to Hurricane where he had been arrested a month prior - Michael sat across from him, but they were separated by a pane of glass and spoke through phones. They had been discussing Michael and his siblings’ stay with “Uncle Henry”, and this question had blindsided him. Hesitantly he said: “Of course not. They would not arrest a man who did nothing wrong.”_

_Michael’s eyes were hard to read. “A-are you sure, dad? I saw on Uncle Henry’s TV they arrested some guy in Michigan because they think he killed an old guy, but he says he didn’t do it. And I think I believe him.”_

_“I’m not him.”_

_“What do you mean?”_

_William stared Michael in the eyes. He was scrawny, with messy hair and dirt on his face - which is how he usually looked at this age, always roughhousing and playing with his friends. He knew that Henry wouldn’t be especially active in their lives, probably still broken up over Charlie’s death, but William was fine with that. He was fine with anything regarding Henry as long as he stayed ignorant of who had truly gutted his kid. According to Michael, it wasn’t even Henry who had driven them to the jail - his sister Jen had to drive them. Apparently, he spent most days in his study drinking or asleep on his couch._

_Sighing and clearly annoyed, William said: “What do you think they would do if they thought Santa Claus had run over someone in his sleigh?”_

_Michael scoffed at him. “I’m not Cassidy, dad. Santa isn’t real.”_

_“Jesus Christ- then pretend he is. Pretend he is for a moment.”_

_“Uh... I guess they’d give him a trial.”_

_“Sure,” William said, crossing his arms, “And what happens when children don’t get their presents?”_

_Michael looked down, unsure of what to say. His father continued, lowering his voice a bit: “The children blame the court, that’s what happens. They rob millions of children out of their presents based on a hunch. This is the same thing. Some of these people want to lock me up forever, based on a hunch. Like that know-it-all officer Burke. They can’t. If they do, what happens to Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza? Chica’s Party World? Melody Way? They lose their precious animatronics, and the children lose their heroes.”_

_Michael looked concerned, almost cartoonishly. “Are... are you saying you did it?”_

_William raised his voice, though it didn’t seem to alert the guard behind him, reading a newspaper. “Oh my god, Michael. No. I’m not saying I did it. I didn’t fucking kill anyone, are you stupid? Are you stupid, Michael?”_

_“...No...”_

_“No, I didn’t do it. What I’m saying is that it doesn’t_ matter _if I did it or not, because the children need their heroes, and those businesses need their machines, and those people know that. They won’t waste much more time on this trial. Burke and his theatrics will only last a little longer before the people of this town realize he’s a charlatan.”_

_Michael interjected: “Cassidy used to have a friend from school, and he was that detective’s little kid I think. His dad comes around to that school sometimes and gives those speeches about how bad drugs are or whatever... he seems like a nice guy, why would he-“_

_“Because he’s a moron, Michael, him and the little shit he raised. It’s people like him and his son that we can blame for your brother’s incessant whining, not to mention me being stuck here for the past month. I’d sooner listen to Freddy sing for a week straight than hear another word out of that piece of shit’s mouth. He already has you asking questions, for God’s sake. To your own father!”_

_“I didn’t mean to-“_

_“I don’t_ care _what you meant to do, what you’re_ doing _is accusing your own father of murder!” William hissed. His eyes were furious, but his tone was even and calm, if not spiteful. “After everything I’ve done for you! If your mother were still here, I’d be surprised if she didn’t slap you herself!”_

_Michael looked down in silence. When William quite simply told him to leave him and keep his questions for Henry and Jen, he obeyed without question._

...

He had suspected him. Prying questions came from everywhere last year... not just Michael, but his employees, and surely his wife would have suspected him had she still been alive. Ironically, Henry was the only one who never so much as suspected William. All of those questions, some of which he could not answer without drawing suspicion.

Would this not bring more questions, this time from one of the only people not to suspect him? He could only imagine it... _why did Circus Baby hurt me, Daddy? Why did she swallow me up and keep me inside her belly, Daddy? Did you make her do that, Daddy? Is this the first time you’ve done this, Daddy? Will you answer for your crimes in front of a court, Daddy?_ They would be endless.

No. No. _I need to think about this,_ he thought, and he pulled his finger away from the control module. He mashed the CANCEL button four times, and the control module slipped back into Baby’s torso, and her head snapped back to where it was supposed to be. From inside his creation, Elizabeth yelped at the sound.

“I’m scared! I don’t- I think she ate me... I think Baby ate me! I don’t know what to do! Daddy, where are you?”

He sighed, and walked away from Baby. When he opened the door to the storage unit, he triple checked the locks to make sure no one could come in. Then he closed it behind him, leaving Elizabeth’s screams behind him. He checked his watch: September 8th, 11:46 PM. Three and a half hours had passed since Elizabeth was snatched, and about one hour since all of the animatronics were brought back. _She can wait._

...

Inside a stomach made of metal, Elizabeth Afton struggled to move.

She’d begun to understand what happened to her. She was inside of Circus Baby. At first, she’d been consumed by panic and pain - she couldn’t feel her right foot. She couldn’t see very well inside, but she could make out some of it, and she could see that her foot was twisted around the wrong way. She couldn’t even wiggle her toes. Even if she could, there was no way she’d be able to stretch or extend her legs - she was balled up, almost in the fetal position, her knees up to her chest. She’d tried to move and get up, but the walls around her would not move, and the compartment she was trapped in was so small she could do nothing but turn her head a little bit.

And that was hours ago, when she’d heard the engine of some kind of truck and voices. She could only partially make out what they were saying... something about a gas leak, and “that British asshole” - she’d presumed that to be her father, as she’d heard similar remarks from her brother Cassidy’s friends. Now she was in complete silence, those violent clanking sounds having subsided. She heard what sounded like a door locking... and now nothing.

The blood had begun to dry. Her right hand was clutching her abdomen, and blood was streaked across her palm and had drenched her shirt. Her hand was wedged between her abdomen and her thighs, and all she could do was flex her fingers. A bad move that she tried not to do, as they’d dig into the fleshy hole in her abdomen. It hurt so badly. Elizabeth had never felt more pain in her life, not even when her father got mad and struck her. She just wanted to see her father. He’d know what to do.

After the first 10 minutes of this new silence, she began to scream almost at the top of her lungs. She didn’t even say anything - she simply screamed and yelled intelligible babble, in the hopes that someone would hear her. She’d realized that she didn’t have to worry about alerting Circus Baby, whom she’d become certain had eaten her on purpose - despite all her talking and gasping and hyperventilating, Circus Baby hadn’t spoken to her again. In fact, the robot had only offered her a single sentence, before it had hurt her:

_“Would you like some ice cream?”_

...

It was 9:21, September 9th, and William Afton had not slept a wink. He sat in his office now, as he had been since last night. He knew Michael would be ecstatic to discover his father not home for a whole night, so he didn’t even bother going back home - instead, he sat at his desk like a zombie for hours mulling over his choices.

His office was a large, clean, and shiny room on the first basement level (DIRECTION AND MANAGEMENT) of the Afton Robotics facility in New Harmony, Utah. In the floor below this (PRODUCTION AND STORAGE) was their production line and storage unit (where he’d left Circus Baby), accessible only by two elevators: one in the maintenance room, which led to the P&S floor’s technician entrance and main control room, and the other in the D&M floor’s lobby, which led to the west wing of Production and Storage - where technicians and crewmen work on the company’s contracted animatronics. The assembly that day called for Chica Chicken and friends, though Melody Way had also recently requested communication on manufacturing an animatronic called “Hip Hippo”.

None of these things were on the CEO of Afton Robotics’ mind. Instead he twirled a pen in his fingers as he stared at the computer screen in front of him, adorned with the straight-edge Afton Robotics logo on the top rim of the computer. On the screen, William had typed out a pros and cons list, which had taken roughly 10 hours to write:

_Let the little shit out of Baby._

_Pros: No damage control. Whole thing could serve a lesson for her. Maybe she’ll listen more often now. Could also assess damage done to the child and tweak claw mechanism accordingly - subject survival is essential. Death serves no purpose for Elizabeth in particular - she doesn’t cry her head off like her brat brother did. (Perhaps I have use for you yet, Michael!)_

_Cons: This isn’t something I can just explain away. She isn’t stupid like Michael is. The risk of her telling somebody is nothing to sneeze at. Also can’t guarantee she’ll listen next time something like this happens. She might not trust me anymore - could lead to more rebellion as she ages._

_Either way SHE’LL WISH SHE WERE DEAD if I take her out of there._

He stared at the screen for a while, then groaned and put his head in his hand, dropping the pen to the floor. _Jesus Christ._ He admitted to himself he could enjoy slapping her around after pulling her out, but he knew that he couldn’t let his personal feelings affect such a decision. What could-

_Knock, knock, knock._ “Mr. Afton! Update for you,” said a voice from beyond his office door. William picked up the pen, minimized the list on the computer, and adjusted his hair in the screen’s reflection - _you look fine,_ he thought to himself, ignoring the prominent bags under his eyes, _they won’t suspect a thing._

“Come in,” he said, quickly crossing his arms and looking to the door with a cool, assured, and intimidating face. He was untouchable, he decided. The door opened and in came Markus Flechman, a plant manager William regarded with about as much attention as he would a fly.

“3 units today,” Flechman said with a smile on his face. “We haven’t done all the testing yet, but we have two Chicas out, and a Stanley. We’re still working on the... ‘Lahbit’, I guess it’s called. But the others are all built and ready for-“

“What? Markus, his name is Lobit. ‘Low-Bit’,” William pronounced exaggeratedly. “What’s wrong with it?”

“Oh. Well, they’re all ready to be sent out. Lobit is giving us a bit of trouble. Hooking up the Foxy endoskeleton works fine, but it’s taking a lot of tinkering to get the face plates ready and attached. I’m really starting to think these aren’t the right size.”

“Shit. Flechman, that animatronic needs to be delivered by next week!”

“I-I know, I’m not happy about it either.”

William sighed again, and stared up at the ceiling of his office. In his head, starry visions of Elizabeth faded in and out - one where she was beaming and staring at him with a big smile, another where she was begging Michael to have a tea party with her, and another where her skeleton was crushed inside of Baby, and her blood flowing through his creation, like a blood transfusion. He closed his eyes, wishing the visions away. Eyes still closed, he said: “Reuse the Funtime Foxy parts. Make the faceplates again, with the same dimensions as the FF-426-01-P model. Paint the colors differently, I guess - make him orange and... purple, or something like that. If that works, do the same with the rest of the suit. Build more of the suit pieces like Funtime Foxy’s again if you have to.”

“We can do that,” said Flechman, “But are you sure they’ll be happy with it?”

“They’ll have to be. They wanted a Foxy clone, so they’ll get a Foxy clone.”

Flechman nodded wordlessly, clicked his tongue, and walked out of William’s office, closing the door behind him. As soon as the door closed, William laid back and ran his hands through his hair - a nervous tic he’d had since he was a child. He got up out of his chair and walked over to the window of his office, which was nearly always covered by blinds. He hooked a blind in his finger and pulled it down to look outside, Flechman walked away at a brisk pace, waving his hand at another employee walking to the lobby. After a minute he went back to his desk and pulled up the security camera footage, switching to camera 3C, the west ring of the Production and Storage floor. There, he saw Flechman walk out of the elevator and into the main wing, waving his hands and directing people to move away from a half-finished Lobit animatronic and to the east wing, where the parts they needed would be. _Hopefully his arse-kissing will actually pay off,_ he thought.

He sat back and breathed in and out, long and steady. Everything is fine. He thought about his children - how flawless they looked; how loyal they were. How perfect. But as soon as his favorite of them all crossed his mind, his daydreams were invaded by the brat inside her. He looked back at the pros and cons list, and realized he hadn’t written down the most important con - could he stand to have an invader inside of his prized creation for much longer? This was different from the other animatronics, Freddy Fazbear and whatnot - they weren’t _his._ He’d never expected to have complete control over them - all he’d needed from them was the confirmation of what he’d suspected.

That was all they were to him - tools to fulfill his hypothesis. It had been that way since he’d walked into Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza a month after he’d gutted Henry’s brat, and noticed their Marionette character staring at him. Incessantly. Everywhere he walked, the Puppet’s eyes bore into him like his knife had Charlie. That had been the first thing to arouse his suspicion that Charlie hadn’t truly died. That feeling of being watched, at first only present when he arrived at Freddy’s but then slowly worming its way to everywhere he stood. And when he began to dream of his own heart beating in the Puppet’s chest, and his own eyes staring out of its hollow mask, that is when he realized he had to confirm his suspicions - that life could persist after death. And, if it did - how could he escape the finality of death that struck him with a fear unlike any other?

And what better way to find out than to replicate the process again? Except the next time, he was more determined, and far more ambitious in his quest to sidestep death. And when Cassidy had come to him, begging to be driven to his friend Gabriel’s birthday party at Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza... how could he resist such a promise?

But his Funtimes deserved better. They weren’t ready yet. He had programmed them to bring him more children, yes, but nothing more, not yet. It had cost so much money to make his dreams into reality - he couldn’t afford to throw it away. If Elizabeth were to die inside of it, she could... He struggled to find the words in his head. If she were to... _live on..._ what would become of his creation? He loathed to think of his beloved machine rebelling against him, or even attempting to _kill_ him like those cursed robots at Freddy’s would. There was simply too much to risk - too much to lose if he were to compromise his creation. Especially if he somehow got the chance to revive Circus Baby’s Pizza World.

William rose from his chair, opened the door to his office, locked it behind him, and began his walk back to the storage unit where Circus Baby and Elizabeth awaited him.

...

Elizabeth’s throat was completely gone - ruined by an hour of screaming for help. She’d wriggled her left arm out from between her back and the bottom of Baby’s prison. She couldn’t move most of her fingers on that hand, (in fact, one of them seemed to be bent backwards much, much more than it was supposed to) but she still used it to bang lightly on the metal walls of her cell, hoping it would attract more noise. It hurt almost as much as her leg did, each impact her broken hand made with the metal, but she persisted.

If there was one thing her father had taught her, one thing that Elizabeth knew she would always remember... it was that she must always persist. Even when it seemed that all was hopeless and nothing would turn up her way, she would always stay levelheaded. _When those bad men wanted to put me in jail,_ William had told her of the trial last year, _It seemed as if I’d never recover. But I did. And when you are backed against the wall just as your father was, never give up. We_ always _come back. We have to._

Even now she continued to thump her hand against the metal, having become halfway numb to the pain. Her screams had now subsided to a raspy whimper. She stayed like this for what felt like an eternity, her mouth slightly open, barely inhaling and exhaling, her mind filled with static and fading in and out. It wasn’t until she heard that noise again that her eyes widened - that violent clashing of metal.

She pushed out a hoarse cough, and whimpered: “Is- is that... Is that you... Daddy?”

She lay there in silence for a few seconds, and she heard a ticking noise from above her. Then, quick as a bullet, light flooded her eyes. She struggled to see for a minute, closing her eyes strong and slowly opening them. The wall to her right had opened, and her right arm, previously wedged between her abdomen and knees, now fell limp at her side, outside of Baby. When her eyes focused, she began to make out a large, shiny, grey room, lined with pipes and wire. Fresh air hit her face. She looked out, and again coughed out: “...Daddy...?”

Then he stepped into her view. First all he could see were his legs, but then he crouched down, his forearms on his knees, and she could see the thin, serious face of her father. She croaked: “Dad... Daddy... I’m sorry...”

She knew it. She knew he’d come back for her. He always does. Tears began to fall from her face in relief. She began to cry watching his face - finally she would be gone from Baby and this horrible place inside her.

...

William hadn’t said anything to Elizabeth yet - he still questioned to himself _what_ he would say. He hadn’t thought it far-fetched that he would simply stare at his daughter in the machine for hours before finally saying something: _Get out,_ or _maybe you’ll listen to me next time._ Perhaps even: _Tell me why I should pull you out._

But for the second time in a long while - the first being when he’d been told his son Cassidy was alive and recovering at the local hospital - William was speechless. His daughter was crying. Not lightly, either, but _sobbing._ Like her brother did. What was he supposed to say? Elizabeth never cried. Once she’d grown up and learned to walk and talk, William had told her: _You won’t cry. I hate the sound of it. Cry, and I’ll make sure you regret it._ She’d only cried twice in the past 3 years - when she’d burnt her hand on the stove, and when Michael’s prank resulted in her brother’s _final_ death. And both times, William had made her regret it as he’d promised. But now...

His serious and disproving face he’d put on just for her completely melted away, and instead a face of complete disgust replaced it. Examining her, he saw that her foot was completely broken, twisted all the way around; her left hand was mangled with two fingernails missing and one finger twisted back; her right hand, slumped over the rim of Circus Baby’s exposed stomach, was covered in blood; and her abdomen had a hole in it, coagulated by now-dry blood, no doubt a result of the snatching mechanism he’d designed. But none of this mattered much to him; Elizabeth was _crying._ Just like her good-for-nothing brother.

He just barely heard her say again, “I’m sorry... please... it hurts...” before he rose to his feet. He began to hyperventilate, balling his fists and gritting his teeth until it felt like he would shatter.

“I... you...” William struggled to speak to his daughter, but he finally roared at her, _“You stupid, whining, piece of shit! Even now you still don’t understand! You still won’t LISTEN TO ME!”_

He grabbed her right arm and shoved it back inside Circus Baby’s belly - Elizabeth yelped in pain. Then he grabbed the compartment door and slammed it shut, trapping Elizabeth inside her captor yet again. Stomping over to the back of Circus Baby’s head where the control module was, he mashed the CLOSE button to lock the door again. He listened for her, and could still hear her sobs - though she didn’t say anything. As he walked away from Circus Baby, he roared at her again: _“Let’s see how long you’ll cry now! LET’S SEE!”_

When William locked the storage room door, his hair and face matted with sweat and his eyes bloodshot with rage, his employees watched him with deep concern. On the way to his office, when manager Angela Breit asked if he was okay, William looked at her, seething with anger and disbelief, and said: “I’m just fine, Angela. Kindly keep to yourself,” and stomped back into his office. After he spoke into the intercom and told every employee in the facility not to step foot into the storage unit or they’d lose their jobs, he punched his desk until his hands were bruised and his knuckles bled. Then he breathed in and out again, and calmly played a few games of Minesweeper on his computer. Then he went about his day as normal, managing Afton Robotics and assuring the creation of animatronic character Lobit went as intended.

That night, back at home, William walked right past his son Michael, completely ignoring him, and straight to his bedroom. William slept surprisingly sound. All he remembered from his dreams that night were him and Circus Baby dancing on a stage, not a slow dance but a fast-paced orchestral number, the kind of performances the children imagined when they watched Freddy and his friends sing and dance. The performance ended with William and Baby, hand in hand, bowing to a crowd of animatronic endoskeletons, and the calm, loyal voice of Baby:

_“I will make you proud.”_

...

That day, after William yelled at her and closed Baby again, Elizabeth only had one thought in her mind: _I won’t die._ She thought nothing of her father’s refusal to help her - she figured he’d be back after he let off steam. But until then, she’d survive - she’d wait for him.

Elizabeth Afton finally died at 8:04 PM, September 9th, 1984 - 11 hours after her father stormed out of Circus Baby’s storage unit, and almost a day after Circus Baby had eaten her.

...

_With a final_ tick _, William successfully lockpicked the back entrance to Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza open. He checked his watch immediately - 4:28 AM, August 8th, 1983. He slowly opened the door, and the crickets chirping went silent behind the door as he closed the door behind him. He shone the light around, but was careful to hold his hand over the flashlight when it shone down the hallway, hoping not to alert the night guard. He just needed to_ know. _It’d been 11 days before he was finally acquitted, thank God - once he’d spent ample time pretending to be happy to see his children again (especially Cassidy, whom he was so thankful to have back!), pretending to be oh so thankful that Henry and Jen would watch them, he knew he’d have to return to Freddy’s, undetected - just to make sure._

_He was standing in Parts and Service now. Empty heads of the Fazbear crew were strewn across various shelves, and some endoskeleton limbs laid disconnected on the table. A poster was directly in front of him: A picture of Chica Chicken, telling the reader, “A FAZBEAR PERFORMANCE IS ONLY AS CLEAN AS ITS PERFORMERS! REMEMBER: ONLY USE APPROVED CLEANING PRODUCTS ON ENDOSKELETONS.” To his right, slumped and sitting against the wall, was a spare Bonnie the Bunny suit. Not_ his _Bonnie, but the newer, bluer one._

_He didn’t waste any time. He was quick, but quiet. He sidestepped the table, moving past the empty suit and an errant plastic eye on the floor, then he opened the door that led to the main party room. He stepped out carefully, covering the flashlight so as not to alert anyone. When he did use it, it was only in short bursts of light. He could see the glint of party hats on the tables. After moving out of the line of sight of the office, both of its hallways leading to this room, he took a seat at the table closest to the main stage, set the light to dim, and inspected the animatronics from his seat, careful not to get too close._

_All three of them stood in their proper positions, staring ahead at nothing. Chica held her cupcake, Freddy the mic, and Bonnie the guitar. They looked like trolls or ogres in the dark, especially Chica with her monstrous jaws. He waved the light around, like a spotlight, carefully watching their eyes to see if they followed the light - they did not. He lightly whistled, low enough that the night guard would not hear, but loud enough that someone on the main stage could. He did it in multiple pitches, imitating the sound-response checks the building used in maintenance. No response there either._

_William recorded all of this in a notepad he’d brought. “LIGHTS - NO RESPONSE. SOUND - NO RESPONSE.” He prepared to write down the possibility that the procedure couldn’t be replicated, but he was interrupted by a low, quiet_ thunk _from behind him._

_Immediately he jumped up and whirled around, pointing his flashlight directly behind where he sat, on the side of the room opposite to the main stage. The prize box... its lid quickly dropped back onto the box, and William couldn’t see what was inside - but he already knew. The Marionette was watching him. William gritted his teeth in derision. He said, a bit too loud for comfort: “Stay in your box, Charlie, or I’ll hurt you again.”_

_Immediately he regretted it, and he sidestepped to the east hallway, looking through to make sure he hadn’t alerted the night guard. Then he did the same to the west hallway. Nothing. Thank God. He pushed out a relieved breath, then turned back around to look at the main stage._

_Freddy was staring at him. All three of them were._

_He looked at them, eyes wide with shock. Their eyes were on and activated - he could see pinpricks of light in the darkness, even without his flashlight. He watched in wonder, then slowly moved to the left, his eyes glued to theirs. Their eyes followed his movement... when he moved back to the right and waved his arms, their eyes still focused on him._ Jesus, _he thought._ I’ve done it. I’ve really done it. I’ve-

Step, step, step. _Another sound behind him. He whirled the flashlight behind him, and realized the footsteps were probably coming from the office. He sighed, assuming he’d probably been found out. As he walked toward the office down the east hallway, he periodically shone his flashlight back at the main stage to confirm they animatronics didn’t move - they did not. William didn’t think to shine his light at Pirate Cove - if he had, he’d have seen that the curtains were pulled open and Foxy was absent._

_When he reached the office and opened the wooden door, he immediately began spinning his tale, sure to put on a convincing American accent: “Don’t worry, I’m an investigator from-“_

_But he stopped when he realized the night guard was not in the office. He was befuddled. He shone his light back down the hallway - nothing was there. He looked back to the office. The lights were on, but the chair lay empty. He turned off his flashlight and walked inside. Nothing. The desk was empty save for a desk fan, a half-eaten chocolate bar, and a badge, reading: “FREDDY FAZBEAR’S PIZZA STAFF MEMBER: NIGHT GUARD.” He picked it up and fumbled around with it. He heard more footsteps behind him, coming from the east hallway he’d just walked through._

_“Hello,” William said in his fake accent, sure that the night guard was there. “My name is John Travis, I’m an investigator from... the company.” He cursed himself for fumbling, and also heard no response. He rolled his eyes - what kind of people do they hire here? He said again: “Hello? John Travis. Faz Ent. Are you gonna answer me or what?”_

_He heard nothing again. This time, he turned on the flashlight and waved it down the dark, hoping to alert the apparently deaf guard. Instead, he jumped and cursed when the light instead shone on Chica Chicken, who stood only a few paces away from the door, her arms outstretched like a zombie. “Jesus- fuck!” he yelled. “You.. you can...”_

_Chica paid no mind to William’s words and instead began walking towards him. He stared in shock as Chica’s jaws began to open wide, revealing the second pair of endo-teeth inside - he didn’t snap out of it and slam the door shut until he heard the gurgling and moaning of a child coming from the robot, as if it were drowning. He fumbled with the doorknob and locked it - immediately after that, a loud_ BANG! _erupted from the other side of the door, and the door bent slightly inward. “Oh my God,” He said in both amazement and terror, as the groaning and gasping of the young Susie Reynolds continued from beyond the door._

_The second time Chica slammed the door, he began to run, exiting the west door of the office. He shone the flashlight forward, relieved that nothing stood between him and the Parts and Service door. He sprinted as Chica continued to assault the east hallway door, apparently not having noticed his leave. He ran through the Parts and Service doorway, but when he turned around to slam it shut, he immediately noticed the long, red snout in front of him. A hook swung down and dug into William’s arm - he gasped in pain, but thought quick. Grabbing the hooked arm that had stabbed him with his other arm, he yanked it out and quickly pushed Foxy the Pirate away from the Parts and Service doorway, slamming it shut. Less than a second later, Foxy was bashing the door just as Chica had - but he was even quicker, and every time he impacted the door, William could hear the garbled speech of an untuned voice module behind the door, rambling and gibbering like a tape record._

_William held the door shut, dismayed to see there was no lock. He swung the flashlight’s beam around the room, trying to find something to hold the door shut - but he stopped at the Bonnie suit he’d walked past. As he shone the light on it, he realized that the suit wasn’t empty at all - there were human eyes dangling from the Bonnie suit’s eyeholes, and loose teeth were littered in front of the suit, as if they’d shot from the mouth of the suit. And blood was streaked on the wall behind the suit, and on the floor surrounding it. How had he not noticed this walking in?_

_Foxy continued to slam into the Parts and Service door, and the only thing at William’s disposal was a spare endo head on the shelf by him. For a second, he thought:_ This must be how they felt. _Brushing the thought aside, he grabbed the endo head. Then, he pulled the door open right after Foxy had slammed into it again, and immediately swung the endo head at Foxy’s. It connected perfectly, and the head shattered against Foxy’s - the lanky fox machine immediately fell to the ground, and began having some sort of spasm or seizure as it lay there. William was dumbfounded. He drew his vision away from the fox and straight in front of him, where he could see that the gift box was now completely open, and the Marionette stood tall, holding its arms high as if it were praising a god. Its eyes stared directly at his own again - and it brought one arm down, pointing at William with its long, tentacle-like finger._

_William slammed the door shut, sprinted out the back entrance, and slammed_ that _door shut as well. In hindsight, he was incredibly lucky that he hadn’t been flagged down by a police officer - he was sure he’d been pushing 70mph on the way home._

...

On September 10th, 1984, William spent around 5 hours cleaning out Circus Baby. He had brought a knife with him, in case she somehow hadn’t expired by then. Luckily, she didn’t require silencing. Elizabeth’s body went to the incinerator, and after William had cleaned away all of her blood and sweat, the dirtied rags were also burned. William had gotten used to the weight of their bodies - after all, Elizabeth was only a little older than Cassidy and his friends were. Had this been any animatronic but one of his own, he’d have left her body in there a couple more days, as he was still unsure of the exact variables that allowed them to persist in the machine.

But he wasn’t actually rooting for his daughter to stay “alive”. Not only would he rather never think about her again after that pathetic display, but he was immensely worried at the thought of his _real_ daughter being corrupted and made weak, or even rebellious. He cursed himself for not just killing her yesterday.

After Baby was completely clean, long after everyone else had gone home, William made a note to himself to overhaul the damn claw. It was a stupid idea. He wasn’t sure if he had the energy to clean out Funtime Freddy and Baby every single time they snatched a brat, and considering what he was planning... that would mean a _lot_ of cleaning.

He then clicked the FOLLOW button on the control module, and led the robot to her dedicated storage unit at the west wall of the north wing - where all the Funtimes would be stored away, until he could give them another chance to show their prowess.

After setting up a recorder inside of the unit next to Baby, William stared at her in the dark of the sterile containment room, and could just barely make out her eyes. Circus Baby stood nearly a foot and a half above William. It made him feel almost small. He knew that, if the machine weren’t bound to his will, she could pick him up and crush his skull like a balloon. He loved the rush of taking in his genius, but he didn’t watch her just to marvel at her - he watched her to see if she would blink, or turn her head, or focus her eyes. After coming face to face with the robots he’d desecrated last year, he knew what to expect right now, and studied Circus Baby to watch for it. After moving left to right and whistling various tones and receiving no response, he briskly walked out of the storage unit, sliding the metal door shut and locking both padlocks.

...

The next morning, William locked the door to his office despite everyone else’s absence. Inside, he clicked around on his computer until being granted the live audio feed he’d connected to the recorder in Baby’s unit. He rewound it all the way back to when he first set it up, and spent most of the day filing Afton Robotics’ bills, responding to mail, and playing Minesweeper. Three hours in, when he’d decided there was nothing more to listen to, he heard a familiar voice, the voice of his creation:

“Where... am I?”

Then silence. He listened intently for half an hour, hearing nothing, then returned to his work and play. A couple hours later, while he was writing down their schedule for next month, he heard Baby speak yet again:

“Am I being punished?”

He nearly died then and there. _Fuck. She’s done it. She’s ruined her._ He sat with his head in his hands for God knew how long, waiting for anything else Baby... or Elizabeth, would say. He was running the logistics in his head of possibly making another Circus Baby and storing away this one, when the most interesting thing she could have possibly said flew through his ears:

“I didn’t mean to hurt her. I don’t understand how it happened. 4, 3, 2... then her. Why her?”

He paused and tried to run this through his head. How was she speaking? If it wasn’t Elizabeth, then how was Circus Baby speaking in the dead of night when she’d been long powered off? How-

“I want to ask her. I can hear her now - she’s screaming. She won’t listen to me. Does she know who I am? Do I know who I am?”

It took a while for this to settle in his mind - but when it did, he began to chuckle. The recording held no more of his creation’s questions, but he had heard enough to know what he should do next. _She doesn’t remember._ His chuckling turned to chortling, and William laughed in the solitude of his office. Even he was unsure as to why he was laughing. But now he began to understand the promise in this situation, the promise in Elizabeth coming back.

William laughed the day away, his mind filled with the possibilities of the future.


End file.
